


i'm not myself, i am

by thewarriorkingofwakanda (SoloChaos)



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Parent-Child Relationship, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Matt Murdock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 17:46:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7854901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoloChaos/pseuds/thewarriorkingofwakanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>there's something wrong with me</i>
  <br/>
  <i>and it reads nothing like poetry</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“So,” Matt says once they’re seated. “What brings you here, Miss…?” </p><p>“Douglas.” The girl coughs. “Lucy Douglas. Call me Lucy. Please.” </p><p>“Okay, Lucy,” Matt says. “What brings you here?” </p><p>There’s a long pause, and Matt is about to ask again when Lucy blurts, “Were you born Madeline Murdock?” </p><p>Matt freezes. </p><p>“That’s not… that hasn’t been my– my name,” he swallows, “in a very long time.”</p><p>“But– but that’s what you were named,” Lucy says. “At first.” </p><p>“At first,” Matt echoes warily. He isn’t sure what to think. His birth certificate was changed. Very few people know. Foggy didn’t find out for over a year; Karen still doesn’t know. “Why are you–”</p><p>“And you had a baby.” </p><p> </p><p>Loosely based on an old <a href="http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/4501.html?thread=8032661#cmt8032661">prompt</a> on the kinkmeme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm not myself, i am

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Daredevil friends!
> 
> To preface, I have very little knowledge of the Daredevil comics. I also haven't been in the fandom for very long. Additionally, Matt is probably _wildly_ OOC. In my defense, Matt is way too emotionally repressed to use him as a character in a story without stretching the story out. And I really don't have the patience to stretch a story out.
> 
> I found the prompt this fic is based on while looking for inspiration on the kinkmeme. I changed quite a few things about it, though. I'm not posting it on dreamwidth because A: it doesn't really fit the prompt, B: the thread is dead, and C: I don't have an account nor the motivation to make one.
> 
> This is not beta-read. It's not even proofread, because I just can't get my shit together.
> 
>  
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> Past sexual abuse perpetrated by a religious authority figure. Nothing graphic, but it's a rather strong theme. Past unwanted pregnancy, past teen/adolescent pregnancy, past male pregnancy. (Matt is a trans man and was once pregnant.) This led to extreme gender dysphoria, which is only mentioned a bit in the story, but it might be enough to trigger. Also, Matt gets drunk at one point, which might be triggering. Please let me know if I should warn for anything else.
> 
>  
> 
> I don’t know how old Matt is in the MCU canon. I guessed late 20s, early 30s. He’s 30 in this because the plot demands it.
> 
>  
> 
> Funny story: I named the kid “Lucy” because I was like, “Hahaha, like Lucifer. Because Matt’s the devil.” Peak sense of humor, I have.
> 
> Later, while I was googling a list of saints for another fic, I realized that there’s saint called Lucy. Who is the patron saint of the blind. Huh.

_I'm not myself, I am_

_A broken boxer stuffed with glass and sand._

_This is not how health should feel._

_–Dead Now; Frightened Rabbit_

 

* * *

 

The girl is nervous. So very nervous.

“Miss,” Matt tries, “we at Nelson & Murdock can’t help you if you don’t talk to us.” 

The girl is tapping her fingers against her legs nervously. Matt can hear the sound of fingertips on fabric. 

“Could…” She swallows. “Could I speak to you privately, please?” 

Matt furrows his eyebrows, but he nods. He can feel Foggy’s confused gaze, and he gives him a one-shouldered shrug as he directs the girl towards their meeting room.

“So,” Matt says once they’re seated. “What brings you here, Miss…?” 

“Douglas.” The girl coughs. “Lucy Douglas. Call me Lucy. Please.” 

“Okay, Lucy,” Matt says. “What brings you here?” 

There’s a long pause, and Matt is about to ask again when Lucy blurts, “Were you born Madeline Murdock?” 

Matt freezes. 

“That’s not… that hasn’t been my– my name,” he swallows, “in a very long time.”

“But– but that’s what you were named,” Lucy says. “At first.” 

“At first,” Matt echoes warily. He isn’t sure what to think. His birth certificate was changed. Very few people know. Foggy didn’t find out for over a year; Karen still doesn’t know. “Why are you–”

“And you had a baby.” 

Matt’s blood turns to ice. Oh, fuck, oh G-d. It’s  _her._

He can’t breathe.

“I– I’m sorry.” Lucy’s voice cracks. “I didn’t realize… you must’ve been a  _kid…”_

“Please leave,” Matt whispers.

“I…” Lucy pauses, breathes. “Okay.” 

Matt lets his head thump onto the table once he hears her close the door. He doesn’t move when he hears Foggy walk in.

“Buddy?” Foggy asks hesitantly. “Everything all right?” 

“Later,” Matt whispers, and Foggy makes a sound likes he wants to protest, but he nods.

 

* * *

 

 Foggy is pacing.

“You were– god, ten?” he says, and his voice is shaking.

“Twelve,” Matt corrects, and he hears a loud crunching sound. Foggy’s fist. The wall.

“Fuck, Matty,” Foggy says quietly. His whole body is trembling, like he’s holding in sobs.  _“Fuck.”_

“It was a long time ago,” Matt says, aiming for nonchalant. He just ends up sounding small.

Foggy flops down on the couch and leans against Matt. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he says quietly.

“It wasn’t so bad,” Matt tries. “The nuns finally let me cut my hair.”  _Because of pity. And guilt._

Foggy snorts a little, but it’s a hollow, bitter laugh. “Fuck, Matty,” he says, and his voice sounds wet. “Why does life have to be so hard for you?” 

It’s Matt’s turn to laugh. It’s no more genuine than Foggy’s. “Just lucky, I guess,” he mumbles.

Foggy slings an arm over Matt’s shoulder. “Yeah, you won the life lottery, all right.” 

They sit in companionable silence for a long moment.

“Wait, does that mean you were pregnant when that branch guy was teaching you the ninja stuff?” Foggy asks after a moment.

“Stick,” Matt corrects. “Actually, that was why he left.” 

“Stick ditched you because you were  _pregnant?”_  Foggy sounds horrified.

“Yeah,” Matt says. “It sucked.” 

“Yeah,” Foggy echoes, sounding like the wind just got knocked out of him. “I bet it did.” 

“He wanted a soldier,” Matt says. “He couldn’t have one who was stupid enough to get raped.” 

Foggy makes a noise, low in his throat. “Christ, Matt, it was  _not your fault.”_

“I  _do_  know that,” Matt says, feeling darkly amused. “Stick didn’t.” 

Foggy makes another noise. “Can I hug you?” 

Matt doesn’t say anything; he just buries himself in Foggy’s arms.

“I have a daughter, Foggy,” he says, voice muffled.

“Yeah, you do,” Foggy says quietly.

“She’s practically grown up,” Matt whispers. “What does she…” He stops himself. He doesn’t usually ask what people look like; generally, it doesn’t matter to him. But he wants to know, wants to know if she looks like him, or looks like  _him…_

He’s scared.

“You want to know what she looks like?” Foggy asks gently.

“No,” Matt says. He sighs. “Yes. I don’t know.”

“She… has brown hair,” Foggy offers. “She’s short. Kinda pale.” 

Generic. Generic he can do.

“What about her eyes?” he asks.

“Didn’t really get a good look,” Foggy says. “Like, not light, but not dark?” 

“Love your specificity, Nelson,” Matt says. “This is why we’re friends.” 

Foggy snorts and shoves at him lightly. “She has short hair,” he continues. “Not super short, just like–” Matt can sense him gesturing to his jaw. “Chin length, I guess.” 

Matt hums and nods. “What was she wearing?” 

“You want to know what she was wearing?” Foggy asks.

Matt shrugs. “Clothes make the man. Or woman, I guess.” 

Foggy snorts. “Right. Uh, she was wearing a blazer and a dress. Very fashion-forward.” 

“What color?” 

“Black blazer, and– oh, you’ll like this– red dress.” 

Matt smiles, but he’s not sure if he likes it.

“Listen,” Foggy says once he’s getting ready to leave, “save the vigilante-ing for another time, okay?” 

“Vigilante-ing isn’t a word,” Matt points out. “You could just say ‘vigilantism’. Makes sense grammatically, and it works just as well.” 

Foggy sighs. “I’m serious, Matty. I don’t want you getting all caught up in your head while out there and end up taking one too many hits. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Matt says.

Foggy leaves, and Matt thinks very hard about putting on the suit.

In the end, he doesn’t. He pretends it’s out of loyalty to Foggy, but really, it’s because he can’t quite muster up the strength to move.

 

* * *

 

 “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Matt says, closing his eyes. “It has been 23 days since my last confession. I…” He pauses and takes a breath. “I engaged in premarital sex. I… I also neglected my child.”

There’s a pause. “How often did did you participate in premarital sex?” Father Lantom asks.

“Three times.” He stops and amends, “Three times that I have not already confessed to.”

“How long have you neglected your child?”

“18 years, Father.” 

The priest’s voice is steady and controlled when he says, “In what manner did you neglect your child?” 

“I gave her up for adoption, Father.” 

“And why was that?” 

“I hated her, Father.” 

Matt blinks. He wasn’t expecting to say that.

“Why did you hate her, son?” Father Lantom’s voice is quiet.

Matt rubs his face with his palms. “She reminded me that my body isn’t what it’s supposed to be,” he says slowly. “And she reminded me of the man who raped me.” 

He can hear Father Lantom’s heart speed up, can hear him take a few deep breaths. “Does the premarital sex you’re confessing to,” the priest says, “include the intercourse that conceived your child?” 

“Yes, Father,” Matt murmurs. 

“Being raped isn’t a sin, son,” Father Lantom says gently.

Matt swallows. “I know.” 

“And your child,” Father Lantom says, “you must’ve been a child yourself when you gave birth to her.” 

Matt nods before realizing that the priest can’t see him. “I was twelve, Father.” 

“You couldn’t possibly have given her adequate care at that age,” Father Lantom says. “Giving her up for adoption was most likely the best possible option.” 

Matt closes his eyes and breathes. “I didn’t think I would ever come across her again.” 

“Did she seem upset with you?” 

“Yes.” He pauses. “No. I– I couldn’t tell.” 

“Perhaps making amends with her would alleviate your guilt,” Father Lantom suggests. 

“Is that my penance, Father?” 

“I don’t believe you need a penance, Matthew. I think you need to make peace with yourself.” 

 

* * *

 

 “Karen, do you have Lucy’s number?” 

“Whose?” Karen asks.

“The girl who was here the other day,” Matt says. “The one who asked to see me?” 

“Oh, yes,” Karen says. “She gave me a card.” She pauses. “Do you want me to read the numbers to you?” 

“Actually, uh,” Matt scratches the back of his neck, “could you call her for me? Ask if she’s free tonight at… eight?” 

“Okay,” Karen says, sounding a bit confused. “Where do you want to meet?” 

“That bar at 52nd and 10th,” he says.

The air around Karen’s mouth shifts. A slight frown. “Is she a client? Why do you want to meet in a bar?” 

Matt shrugs. “Put her at ease, maybe?” He doesn’t know if it’ll put her at ease. He doubts it’ll put her at ease, actually. At least they’ll be on equal footing. “I’ll be in my office. Thanks, Karen.” 

“…yeah,” she says, and he can hear her punching in Lucy’s number on the phone as he closes his door.

He doesn’t listen in on the phone call. He reads over documents and files reports and does everything to avoid thinking too much.

There’s a knock on the door. He can hear Karen’s heartbeat. 

“Come in,” he says.

“I hope you don’t mind meeting at 8:30,” Karen says, poking her head in. “She has class until 8:15.” 

“That’s fine,” Matt says, adding a couple of meaningless notes to the document, just to give his hands something to do.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Karen says, pushing the door open wider and stepping in, “is Lucy even a client?” 

“I…” Matt pauses and licks his lips. He doesn’t want to lie to Karen, not when he’s already keeping so much from her.

“Matt?” Karen says, stepping closer and carefully sitting down in the chair before his desk.

“I’m Lucy’s mother,” he blurts before he loses the nerve, and fuck, those words sound weird in his mouth.

“Her… mother?” Karen asks tentatively. 

Matt swallows and nods. He can feel Foggy standing just outside his office. Foggy’s here. Matt can do this.

“I…” Matt takes a breath. “I’m transgender, Karen.” 

There’s a long pause. Karen’s heart rate is steady for a few seconds, and then it skyrockets. He can smell her anger, oh G-d, her  _disgust._  Matt closes his eyes and waits for her to leave.

He flinches when he feels someone take his hand. It’s… Karen? 

“Matt,” she’s saying, and he can smell saline. Tears? Is she crying? “Matt,” she repeats, and her voice breaks. “You… Lucy’s in  _college,_  you must’ve been…” There’s a flurry of movement; she’s wiping her eyes with the hand that isn’t squeezing Matt’s. 

“I was twelve,” Matt says quietly, and Karen makes a soft noise in her throat. 

“You were just a kid,” she whispers. She sounds like she’s grieving. “God, Matt, you were just a  _kid.”_

“I know,” Matt says, and he’s starting to feel… disconnected. Like he’s floating.

“I’m glad you trusted me enough to tell me this,” Karen says quietly, squeezing his hand. “I’m sure it must be– Matt? Um, Foggy? I think–” 

Matt’s opening his eyes.

He doesn’t remember closing them. 

“Buddy, hey. You with us?” Foggy. When did he get so close?

“Yeah,” Matt says. He’s… on the floor. “What… why…”

“I think you had a panic attack, bud,” Foggy says softly. He has a hand on Matt’s shoulder. Karen has a hand on his ankle; she’s squeezing it gently. 

“…huh,” Matt says. “Didn’t know I had those.” He pushes himself into a sitting position, trying to reorient himself. “How… how long…?” 

The air shifts; Foggy’s checking his watch. “I’d say about twenty minutes, maybe.” 

 _Twenty minutes._  He just lost  _twenty minutes._

“It’s okay,” Foggy says quickly. “You’ve been through a lot these past few days, okay?” 

“Okay,” Matt mumbles numbly. It’s really not okay. 

 

* * *

 

 He gets to the bar at 8 o’clock on the dot. He’s thirty minutes early, but he doesn’t mind.

He orders a drink.

Lucy arrives at 8:27. 

“It wasn’t easy getting in,” she says, sounding vaguely annoyed. “I’m eighteen. Not exactly drinking age.” 

“When there’s a way, there’s a will,” Matt says. “Or something. Want anything?” 

Lucy sighs a little and sits down. “No, thank you,” she says. 

Matt shrugs and orders another drink.

“Mr. Murdock,” Lucy begins.

“Call me Matt, for shit’s sake,” Matt mutters, taking a swallow of his drink. “I pushed you outta my fucking vagina. I think we’re past formalities.” 

“Oh,” Lucy says faintly.

Matt takes another drink.

“I didn’t actually push you out of my vagina,” he says after a moment. “I was– was only embellishing. You were– ah, C-section.” He gestures vaguely to his lower abdomen. “Had a shitty reaction to the anesthesia too. Hurts like a bitch to throw up with a giant gash across your belly, that’s for sure.” 

“…are you drunk, Mist– Matt?” Lucy asks.

“Of course not,” Matt says. “That would be very im– um– umprofessional.” 

“Oh,” Lucy says.

There’s a lull in their sparkling conversation. 

“Did you…” Matt coughs. “Were you… The people who adopted you. Were– are they good to you?” 

“Yes,” Lucy says. “They… they’re the best.” 

“But you came looking for me,” Matt says. “Why?” 

A movement from Lucy. A shrug. “Curiosity, really,” she says. “I… I wanted to know where I came from.” 

“The– the father was a priest,” Matt offers.

Lucy winces audibly. “I didn’t mean–”

“He’s probably dead now,” Matt says. “He was pretty old.” 

She makes a pained noise. “Oh, I–”

“He smelled like artificial cherries,” Matt continues. He can’t stop talking. He’s… drunk? “Like hard candy. Or cough syrup. The smell still makes me nauseous.” 

“Please, I don’t–” 

“He told me that he would get the devil out of me,” Matt says. Someone’s crying. Lucy? “I think he just made it stronger.” 

“Matt,” Lucy whispers.

“I wish you were more like him,” he says. No, wait.  _He’s_  the one crying, not Lucy. “It would make it easier to hate you.” He picks up the bottle and is mildly surprised to find it empty. “Huh.” 

“Matt, I think you should go home now,” Lucy says.

“I don’t wanna go home,” Matt mumbles, resting his head on the table.

“I think you should,” Lucy tells him. “Or go to a friend’s house. Maybe that would be better.” 

“Foggy?” Matt suggests, voice muffled.

“I don’t have his number,” Lucy says. He can hear a rustle; she’s pulling out her phone. “Do you know his number? Can you recite it for me?” 

“Yeah,” Matt says, and tells her the number. He doesn’t lift his head up from the table. He can hear Lucy talking to Foggy, but he doesn’t listen in. He focuses on the sound of Lucy’s heartbeat, familiarizing himself with it. It’s beating a bit too quickly, but not erratically. It’s steady. Healthy.

He remembers her heartbeat when she was curled up inside of him. Soft, faint, but stable. He remembers her heartbeat after she was born: shaky and fitful and weak.

He remembers feeling worried, despite how much he’d resented her. He’d been relieved that she had been born early, saving him nearly five weeks more of getting bigger, feeling deader. But he’d felt  _worried_  when he heard her heartbeat.

Then she was taken away, and he did his best to forget her.

“Buddy.  _Matt.”_  

“Foggy?” Matt mumbles. His face is still pressed into the table, head seeming to weigh fifty pounds.

“That’s me,” Foggy says. He has a hand on Matt’s shoulder.

“What’re you doing here?” Matt asks.

“Lucy called me.” 

“Where– where is she?” 

“Told her to go home,” Foggy says. His voice is tense, heartbeat elevated. “Come on, Matty.” 

Matt allows himself to be dragged up, out of the bar and into a taxi. Foggy wraps an arm around him, keeping him upright and holding him close.

“I don’t wanna go home,” Matt mumbles into Foggy’s shoulder.

“I know, buddy,” Foggy murmurs. “We’re going to my place, okay?” 

“Okay,” Matt says, and he closes his eyes.

 

* * *

  

“Fuck,” he tells the ceiling.

 

* * *

 

“Matt, I’m telling you this as a friend,” Foggy says. “You were a dick.” 

“I know,” Matt groans into the pillow. “She– she’s just thrown everything off, you know?” 

“Yeah, I know,” Foggy says flopping down next to him on the bed. “But she’s just a kid, Matt.” 

“She’s  _my_  kid,” Matt says. “Oh, fuck.  _Christ.”_

“What?” Foggy says, alarmed. Matt doesn’t often take the Lord’s name in vain.

“I told her  _so much,”_  Matt says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Shit. She– she shouldn’t have had to listen to all of that,  _fuck.”_  

“You told her…?” Foggy prompts.

“Everything.” He sighs. “No, not everything. But… a lot. Of details. Stuff I’ve never told you. Or  _anybody.”_

“The bad stuff?” Foggy says softly, rubbing Matt’s arm.

“Yeah,” Matt says tiredly. “The bad stuff.” He closes his eyes and remembers being tipsy one night in college, when Foggy’d asked why he flinches whenever someone touches his neck, why he gags at the smell of cherry lollipops. He’d struggled to think of a way to explain, settling on, “Because of the bad stuff that happened. When I was a kid.” Foggy had nodded and understood and never pressed, and they moved on.

“Do you want to talk?” Foggy offers.

“No,” Matt sighs. “Thanks. But I should call…” He pats his pockets, searching for his phone. 

“Over here,” Foggy says, and Matt can sense him leaning over and grabbing his phone from the nightstand.

“Thanks,” Matt says, taking his phone. He pauses. “I don’t have her number.” 

“Oh, I do,” Foggy says. “Y’know, from when she called me.” He programs the number into Matt’s phone before Matt can protest, and dials.

“Hello?” The voice that answers is sleepy.

“Uh, hi. Lucy?” Matt says, feeling awkward. He wants his glasses, even though he knows she can’t see him.

“Matt?” The voice sounds more alert now.

“Yes, hi,” Matt says. “Uh. I– I’m really sorry, Lucy.” 

“It’s okay,” Lucy says immediately, and Matt sighs.

“It’s really not,” he says quietly. “I was such a dick. I’m sorry.” 

“Well, under the circumstances,” Lucy says, “I think you’re entitled to a little dick-ish-ness.” 

Matt barks out a dry laugh. “Yeah, maybe,” he says. “But I wasn’t entitled to being a dick to you.” 

“Maybe not, no,” Lucy agrees. “But I’m not going to wilt or whatever.”

“Yeah,” Matt says. He doesn’t know what to say, but he’s not quite as uncomfortable anymore.

“Hey,” she says. Her voice has changed; the difference is slight, but it’s enough to make him tense. “Do you want to come to dinner at my house sometime? My parents would really like to meet you.” 

Matt’s taken aback. “I… Would they really? Like to meet me, I mean.” 

“Yes,” Lucy says. She sounds truthful, but Matt still wishes he could hear her heartbeat. “They’re… open-minded.” 

“Ah,” Matt says, and wonders if she’s talking about the trans thing, the blind thing, or the getting-knocked-up-at-twelve-years-old thing. Probably all of it.

“You don’t have to come,” Lucy backtracks. “I mean, all of… this is probably very… uncomfortable for you.” 

“I’m used to being uncomfortable,” Matt says. It comes out sounding much sadder than he meant it to, and he hurriedly says, “It’s okay. I’d like to come to dinner.” He thinks he might actually mean it.

“Good,” Lucy says, sighing in a way that reveals just how nervous she was.

“Just a question,” Matt says, “why would you  _want_  to have me over for dinner? After… last night.” 

There’s a pause, and then Lucy’s saying, “Sorry, I forgot how phones worked and shrugged. Not that you’d know if we were talking in person. Aw, fuck. Was that insensitive? I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Matt says, feeling more amused than anything else.

Lucy regathers her thoughts and says, “I’m just… pretty sure that how you were last night isn’t a… constant thing. I mean, a singular instance can’t accurately represent anything, much less a person.” 

“It’s not, I don’t think,” Matt says. “A constant thing, I mean.” 

“Well, that’s good,” Lucy says. “I just figured it was… an alcohol thing.” 

“It was a stupid thing,” Matt corrects. “…with alcohol, yes.” 

“Been there.” She pauses. “Uh, please don’t tell my parents that.” 

“I’ll try to restrain myself,” Matt says, and he’s genuinely pleased when she laughs.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, my goodness.” Lucy’s mom smells like rosemary and freshly baked bread and laundry detergent and whatever smell it is that he associates with Lucy. “You must be Matthew! Come in, come in,” she says, taking his arm and ushering him inside.

Matt normally hates it when people grab his arm like that, but Mrs. Douglas seems to radiate earnestness. The sincerity is nearly overwhelming.

“Please, call me Matt,” he says, holding out a hand for her to shake. “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Douglas.” 

“Oh, it’s Cynthia, please,” Mrs. Douglas says, shaking his hand. “Now, come sit. Lucy’s still at class, but she’ll be getting home soon. Bill should be getting home a little later. Can I get you anything to drink?” 

Matt shakes his head. “No thank you, ma’am.” 

“It’s Cynthia,” she tells him again. “Now, come along. We can sit in the living room.” 

Matt nods, holding an arm out.

“The twins are at a friend’s house, so it’s just us, Lucy, and Bill tonight,” Mrs. Douglas says as she guides him towards what he presumes is the living room.

“The twins?” Matt asks as he sits.

“Oh, Lucy didn’t tell you?” Mrs. Douglas says. “Her brothers, Liam and Logan. They’re twelve years old, you know. Boys are just wild at that age. Always up to no good.” 

“Uh huh,” Matt nods, gripping his cane and resolutely not thinking about what he was up to when he was twelve.

Mrs. Douglas continues telling him about her sons, blissfully oblivious. She’s in the middle of recounting the tale wherein Liam and Logan swapped identities at school for the fourth time when Lucy arrives.

“Oh, Matt, hi!” Lucy says, sounding much too excited to see him considering the last time they met.

“Lucy, hello,” Matt says.

There’s a pause in which they all figure out what to do next. 

“Lucy, will you go check on the chicken?” Mrs. Douglas finally says. “I’m going to call your father to see what’s taking him so long.” 

Matt wants to tells her that there’s no need, he smell someone walking up the hallway, someone who smells vaguely similar to both Lucy and Mrs. Douglas. But that’s not something people can normally smell. So he sits there and listens to a Law and Order rerun playing playing on the TV a floor below the Douglas’s apartment. It would be much easier to be a lawyer in Law and Order, he decides.

The front door opens, and Matt hears Mrs. Douglas say, “Oh, Bill! I was just about to call you”, and Mr. Douglas saying, “Sorry to keep you waiting, honey”, and the sound of them kissing and Matt is suddenly acutely aware that he does not belong here.

“Matt, this is Bill,” Mrs. Douglas says, breaking through Matt’s thoughts.

Matt tries to smile up in the vague direction of Mrs. Douglas’s voice, hoping he doesn’t look too lost.

“Good to meet you,” Mr. Douglas says gruffly, and Matt senses him holding out a hand to shake.

Matt pretends he doesn’t know it’s there, and there’s a long pause.

“Bill,” Mrs. Douglas hisses, “he can’t see your hand.” 

“Oh, right,” Mr. Douglas mutters. “Uh.” 

“Here,” Matt says, taking pity on him. He holds out his hand. “I’m Matt Murdock.” 

“Bill Douglas,” Mr. Douglas says, and Matt is pleasantly surprised to find that Mr. Douglas shakes his hand firmly. Most abled people– men in particular– tend to shake Matt’s hand weakly, as though he’s a wilting flower or some shit.

“I’m going to go help Lucy,” Mrs. Douglas says, moving towards the kitchen. “I’ll leave you two boys to catch up.” 

There’s another pause, complete with Matt staring at Mr. Douglas’s general direction and Mr. Douglas staring at the floor.

“So, you… watch football?” Mr. Douglas asks.

“It’s a bit difficult for me to watch anything,” Matt says mildly. 

“Right,” Mr. Douglas mutters. “Right, sorry.” He coughs and shifts. “Uh, I just want to say. We– we really love her. Lucy. Cynthia and I love her. And I just want to… thank you. For her.” 

“I didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter,” Matt says stiffly. He’s not quite sure where the hostility is coming from. “In any aspect, really.” 

“I– I know, I’m sorry.” Mr. Douglas scuffs the floor with his heel. He’s clearly a man of few words. Probably wouldn’t make a very good lawyer. “I– I just want you to know. That Lucy is… very loved.” 

Matt opens his mouth to say… something. Fortunately, Mrs. Douglas calls them for dinner, and Matt heads, very gratefully, in the direction of her voice.

“So,” Mrs. Douglas says once they’ve all been seated, “Lucy says you’re a lawyer?” 

“Yes, ma’am. A defense attorney.” 

“Oh, not ‘ma’am’. It’s Cynthia, honey.” 

“What’d you say your last name was?” Mr. Douglas says suddenly, and Matt jumps a little in surprise.

“Uh, Murdock,” he says.

“You helped put away Fisk,” Mr. Douglas says. “Thought I recognized your name.” 

“You helped with the Fisk debacle?” Mrs. Douglas says. “Lucy, you didn’t mention that.” 

“I mean, that wasn’t super important to me when I was telling you about Matt,” Lucy says.

Matt senses Mrs. Douglas wave Lucy away. “Where did you go to school?” she asks him.

“NYU for my bachelor’s degree,” Matt says, “and Columbia for law school.” 

“What a coincidence!” Mrs. Douglas says. “Lucy goes to Columbia too!” 

“What are you studying?” Matt asks. 

Lucy shifts in surprise, but she sounds vaguely pleased when she says, “Physics, mainly. Um, I’m working on a bachelor’s in nuclear physics, and a master’s in radiobiology. I’m on an accelerated program.” 

“I… don’t know what any of that is,” Matt says. 

Lucy laughs a little. “Radiobiology is the study of radiation’s effect on living things. Well, ionizing radiation’s effect, I mean. And nuclear physics is the study of atomic nuclei and all the things related to it.” 

Matt blinks. “Science was never really my strength.” 

The air around Lucy’s face shifts. She’s smiling.

“Oh, we never know what Lucy’s talking about,” Mrs. Douglas says. “Potatoes, Matt?” 

“Thank you,” Matt says, and Mrs. Douglas carefully places the bowl in Matt’s hands. “Uh, Mr. Douglas. What do you do?” 

“Architect,” Mr. Douglas says, and doesn’t elaborate.

“…cool,” Matt says, and immediately wants to kick himself. Cool?  _That’s_  his best word choice?

There’s a long pause. Matt eats his potatoes.

“I recently read an study from a team in Beijing that recently tested a new radiotracer that detects whether or not breast cancer has spread to sentinel lymph nodes,” Lucy blurts. “There’ve been radiotracers before, of course, but this one shows real promise.” She coughs. “That’s not… pertinent to the conversation. Not that there was a conversation, I guess, but.” 

“Lucy’s always reading,” Mrs. Douglas tells Matt, using a confidential tone that’s kind of weird juxtaposed to her naturally loud voice. “And writing. She’s published papers, even!” 

“You’ve published papers?” Matt says. That’s… quite impressive, actually.

“It sounds cooler than it is,” Lucy mumbles, and her heart says  _lie._  Apparently, it’s really cool.

“That’s not true,” Lucy’s dad says. “She’s been published in scientific journals. High prestige ones.” 

“That’s amazing, Lucy,” Matt says, and he’s… proud. Of her?

Dinner wraps up. Matt is given tupperwares and tupperwares of leftovers, because according to Mrs. Douglas, he’s “much too skinny, goodness gracious!” 

Lucy insists on walking him out, and Matt only agrees since he suspects she wants to talk to him without her parents there.

“I liked your mom,” Matt says once they’ve reached the cold, crisp air of Hell’s Kitchen. “I think I made your dad uncomfortable.” 

“Everything makes my dad uncomfortable,” Lucy says flippantly.

Her heart rate only changes slightly at the hyperbole. Apparently her dad’s just an uncomfortable sort of fellow. 

“Well, there’s something he and I have in common,” Matt says.

Lucy chuckles a little at that. “Um,” she says, “thank– thank you for coming here.” 

“Thank you for inviting me,” Matt says, genuinely meaning it.

“I didn’t think you would show,” Lucy adds.

“Honestly, I didn’t think I would either,” Matt says.

They stand in silence. Lucy scuffs her heel against the concrete.

“It’s weird, right?” she says suddenly. “I mean– all of this. I googled, uh, what it’s like to meet your biological parents, but. The good people of the internet didn’t talk about–” she gestures vaguely, “–situations like this.” 

“Finding out your biological mother is a transexual man, getting taken to a bar, and watching him getting drunk and oversharing?” Matt says wryly. “Yeah, I imagine this is fairly unique.” 

Lucy snorts. “Well, maybe not the drinking and oversharing part.” There’s a pause. “Well, that got dark.” 

Matt huffs a laugh. “Yeah, a little.” He checks his watch. “I should…” He gestures in the direction of his home.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Lucy says. “Do you want me to call a cab?” 

“No, I don’t live far,” Matt says. “Oh, and. I really would like to read one of your papers. I won’t understand any of it, but. I’d still like to read it.” 

He’s pretty sure he can sense Lucy smiling.

 

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

He’s not quite sure how Lucy managed to get her paper translated into braille and printed, but he doesn’t care. He skims the title, feeling almost reverent.

 _“Nuclear Resonant Scattering of Synchrotron Radiation Applied to Magnetic Systems Under Extreme Conditions” by L.M. Douglas._  Matt understands maybe two words of the title.

“What does the ‘M’ stand for?” he asks, suddenly curious.

“What?” 

“In your name.” 

“Oh,” Lucy says. “Marie.”

Matt laughs. “No kidding?” 

“No?” she says, confused.

“Marie used to be my middle name,” Matt explains. “You didn’t know that?” 

He senses Lucy cocking her head. “How would I?” 

“You didn’t find out doing–” he searches for the right words, “–whatever you did to find me?” 

Lucy shakes her head, seems to realize her mistake, and says, “No. Um, I just went to St. Agnes. Talked to some people, and they remembered you.” She shifts. “I couldn’t find much on a Madeline Murdock.” 

“How’d you find me, then?” Matt asks.

“Freedom of Information Act,” Lucy says with a shrug. “Name changes are public record. Didn’t pay much attention to what your name used to be; didn’t matter, really.” 

Matt nods slowly. “I, uh, got you something too,” he says, and pulls out a small bag. “I know you said you weren’t religious,” he says, “but. I thought you might like this.” He hands Lucy the bag and listens to her open it, pull out the necklace. “It’s St. Albert. Patron saint of scientists.” He shifts his weight. “You don’t have to keep it if you don’t–” He’s cut off when two arms wrap around him.

“Sorry!” Lucy squeaks after a moment, pulling back. “I should’ve asked. Before hugging you.” 

“It’s okay,” Matt says, hesitantly returning the hug. He hears a sniffling sound, and belatedly, he realizes that she’s crying. “Uh, it’s really not that great of a necklace. Probably. I haven’t seen it.” 

Lucy snorts a little, pulling out of their hug. “It’s not the necklace. Not just the necklace,” she amends, wiping her eyes with her fingers. “It’s… it’s all of this, you know?” 

“Yeah,” Matt says, and just. Breathes. “I know.”  

**Author's Note:**

> So.
> 
> I'm not too thrilled with this. I definitely want to turn this into a series though. I have so many ideas!
> 
> I want to write more about my baby, trans!matt, and Foggy being his super-de-duper supportive best friend. Just lots of stuff about trans!matt being very loved. Also, I have so many feelings about Lucy, whom I unexpectedly discovered I adore.
> 
> Lucy’s middle name is in honor of the late, great Marie Curie. Just like her (middle)namesake, Lucy’s extremely interested in studying radiation. She's 18, having graduated high school at 16. She’s on a five year program, meaning that she’s working on a bachelor’s and master’s at the same time. I don’t know if Columbia offers a five year program, or programs in radiobiology and nuclear physics but whatever. Also, I know nothing about nuclear physics/radiation/radiobiology/science. The title of Lucy’s paper is actually the title of a paper written by Nickie Planckaert, who I’m sure is much smarter than I will ever be. 
> 
> The study Lucy talked about at dinner was real! It was conducted at the Peking University Cancer Hospital & Institute in Beijing, China. The results were published in the August 2016 issue of _The Journal of Nuclear Medicine._
> 
> Please please please let me know what you thought!


End file.
